The Insidious Summonings: Demon's Fire
by RavenScar97
Summary: Samuel Ravenscar is a typical Shadowhunter who lives in Colonial Philadelphia. But all while trying to discover his past he must also maneuver his way through High Werewolf Society, extinguish the flames of a rapidly growing Seelie Civil War, and put a stop to a dangerous cult whose goal is to summon a Greater Demon who would turn his beloved city and the world to rubble.
1. Delving Into Darkness

It was a warm moonless night as Samuel stood, leaning against a tree in an almost empty field, waiting for something of relevance to happen. He rubbed his hand against the tree out of boredom, feeling the roughness of the bark. He wondered how old the giant must be. It was probably first planted before the Europeans had even discovered the New World. He also began to wonder why it was the only tree in the field. He knew that the field was owned by a rich elderly man who lived about a mile away. He was too old to farm, so now he just left the field alone. Sam sighed to himself.

He had lost focus again. He had a bad habit of getting off track and letting his mind wander.

Suddenly the grass rustled in the distance, causing Sam to jolt up before realizing that sound had been made by something small, perhaps a rabbit, or maybe even a fox. He reminded himself that he needed to calm down. He breathed in and out slowly and deeply, trying to get rid of his nerves. He often got uneasy when ever he had to deal with demons or the Downworld when he wasn't with his Parabatai. There was nothing to be afraid of he told himself, not yet. He looked down at his pale arm, suddenly realizing that he hadn't applied a Night Vision rune, and that was the reason he could barely make out the details of the empty meadow.

He pulled his stele out of his trouser's pocket. It was long and slender, and curved slightly near the center. It was an almost silvery white that stood out against the dark night sky. The stele had been his father's when he went to school in Idris. He had left it to him and when he had begun his training he made sure to use it, and it only. It felt perfectly balanced, even more so than a weapon. It was also even the perfect size for his small hands. Whenever he applied a rune he for some reason felt as if he was drawing power from his father, who he hoped was watching over him, especially tonight, when he might need it the most.

He pressed the stele into his toned arm and began to mark the intricate and delicate lines, attempting to remember exactly how the rune went. A sizzling began as the rune began to burn against his skin. He made a point to not press very hard. He would only need the rune for about an hour, and he also didn't particularly enjoy the intense pain that accompanied longer-lasting runes. When he had finished he looked down at his arm. The black of the rune stood out against his fair skin. The rune was very imperfect, but it would have to do for now. It was a shame his parabatai, and cousin, wasn't here. She was really good at applying most types of runes.

When the rune was finished and his stele stopped glowing he put it back into his pocket, hoping he wouldn't have to use it anymore that night. The smell of grass and pollen was suddenly overwhelmed by the smell of burnt skin that accompanied the marking of runes. He tried inhaling as much of the smell as possible; he loved the smell of freshly marked skin.

Feeling impatient, he pulled out his golden pocket watch, which his father had also given him. He then put it back into his pocket. After a few seconds he realized he had forgotten the time already. He let out a sigh and pulled out the pocket watch once again. It was 11:53, 7 minutes early, according to his faery friend, who frequented a bar that Samuel often went to in order to get tips about what was going on in the often sinister Downworld of Philadelphia.

* * *

It had all happened the night before. Sam hadn't even planned on seeking information that night. He just wanted a drink, which wasn't exactly legal, considering he was only 17. He knew most of the men (and the occasional woman) at the bar, so they didn't really care if he had a drink or two. His aunt, on the other hand, didn't like him drinking at all. That is why he had to sneak out at night in order to go to the bar. That probably wasn't very safe, considering his parabatai was at the Institute sound asleep. But Sam didn't do much hunting that late at night, so it was mostly riskless, unless a demon or Downworlder decided to hunt him.

The bar, which was named _The Orphaned Piglet, _was dark and smokey the night Sam walked in. Men sat in the corners, playing cards or smoking their tobacco pipes. When the occasional woman walked in, no matter with the beauty of a picture or a toad, the men hooted and hollered. The woman would act offended and stomp out of the bar into the night. Sam walked up to the bartender and asked for a beer, paying with the money that he kept in his boot. He sat down at an old oak for two and began to drink.

When he lifted the beer to his mouth and took a sip it took all of his self control to not spit it out. It was warm and unusually bitter. Quite frankly Sam thought to himself that it tasted like piss. Even though it tasted less than excellent Sam continued to drink until the taste didn't seem to matter anymore. When he had finished his fifth mug of beer he looked up and surprisingly saw his friend sitting across from, chewing on a bright orange butterfly wing, while the butterfly it belonged to squirmed in agony.

She had been twirling her silky teal hair and playing with the lace on her dress, which would have seemed out of place in the bar if she hadn't of had enough glamor on herself to cover the entire 13 Colonies. She batted the eyelashes of her big piercing blue eyes, which had no whites. When she had finished eating the butterfly she quickly pulled out a piece of algae, which had been woven into her hair, and began to chew on it as well. Sam was disgusted by the Fair Folk's "interesting" choice of food, but at least they didn't snack on Mundanes like some other Downworlders. When she saw that she now had Sam's attention she smiled, showing a row of very sharp teeth. Sam had, on several occasions, seen her take off part of her glamor and smile at a drunkard if she was feeling particularly mischievous. While Sam was _supposed _to kill any Downworlder who was terrorizing Mundanes, he found her antics amusing, and knew tricks like those were in a faery's nature (and harmless), so he let them slide. Somehow, despite how unhuman his friend looked and was, she still had a beauty that no human, Shadowhunter or Mundane could deny.

"So, Samuel" his friend said after finishing her snack. "We meet again."

"It appears so. You're looking as lovely as always." Sam replied, intentionally feeding his friend's ego.

"Oh, stop it!" She said. Sam imagined she would have blushed if the Fair Folk could blush.

"What brings you here?" Sam questioned, only making polite conversation, but not really expecting a straight forward answer. "Nothing going on at the pond?"

His friend, which Sam still did not know the name of even after knowing her for several years, lived in a pound a few miles out of town. Her and the other Sprites quite often ventured out of the pond to find entertainment. The pond was actually linked to the Seelie Court, but Water Fey were looked down on upon, even by other Fair Folk. Most of the Sprites abided their time by playing pranks on the unsuspecting Mundanes of the city, or even sometimes seducing some of them. But it was a Sunday night and not much was going on in the sleeping city of Philadelphia.

"Oh, you know." The faery sighed. "Nothing is _ever_ going on in the pond. Every time I try to organize a function the only other faeries that show up are Satyrs and Trolls. Even if they _could_ breath under water the party would still be a disaster. And now every time I try to gain entrance into the Seelie Court the King tells me my kind aren't welcome there anymore. Sometimes I feel I would even have a better social life if I was a _Shadowhunter_. But then I realize that being a Shadowhunter only allots 60 years of partying at the most, and I don't quite know if that would be..."

Sam's friend continued to ramble on until Sam let out a yawn, partially out of boredom, but mostly out of exhaustion

"Oh I'm sorry, was I rambling on again?" his friend apologized, or perhaps questioned. Sam could never make heads or tails of Faery Speak.

"It's fine." Sam reassured, deciding to take it as an apology. "Is there a reason you came to see me, or did you just want a drink?"

His friend chuckled. "If I _really_ wanted a silly Mundane drink, don't you think I would have gotten you to buy me one?"

"Good point." Sam countered. "So what _is_ the reason you came all the way here from your pond?"

"Can't a girl come visit her pal?" his friend teased. "Or maybe I just wanted to see your, quite frankly _plain_, face."

"Sorry, the whole no-lying thing, you know" his friend added.

"Whatever." Sam stated, not even particularly offended. He was used to his friend's insults which hid as "honesty". "Will you just get to the point already. Why are you here?"

Right at that moment a group of men who sat a card table began to gawk at Sam. He could not even begin to imagine what they were seeing. For all he knew all they were seeing was a young man arguing with the chair that was sitting across from him. Next time he would either have to glamor himself. Or even better her could pick a better location to have a decreasingly friendly argument with a Downworlder.

"Maybe now I won't tell you." the Sprite sighed. "Considering how rude you are being tonight. First you practically fall asleep when I try to answer the question _you_ asked. And now you are getting saucy with me. I simply won't stand you talking to me this way. I may be Fey, but I am _still _a lady."

"I'm sorry." Sam apologized, genuinely meaning it. "But _you_ would rather talk about your social life then tell me something that is apparently important. It _is_ important, right? Or you obviously wouldn't have walked 3 miles to be here."

"Well." the faery began. "It's not important to _me_, or _my_ people, it _probably_ wouldn't be important to a Night's Child, it _might_ be important to Moon's Child, it would _definitely_ be important to a Warlock, and it would most _certainly_ be important to _you_ and the _Clave_."

"If it is so important." Sam began. "Then could you please tell me what it is."

"I could." she said.

"Will you?" Sam replied.

"It'll cost you." she said.

"What do you want?" Sam replied.

"It depends on what you have."

"It depends on what you want."

"That." she countered. "depends on what you have."

"I can personally guarantee you a favor". Sam responded.

"Oh, no no." his friend giggled, twirling her hair. "You do not want to owe a favor to a faery."

"If it's that important then maybe it will be worth it."

"Well, here I go." the girl started. "A certain Water Sprite could have heard from a certain Pixie that a certain group of Mundanes could or could not be getting together tomorrow night at midnight in a certain field west of town to try summon a certain Greater Demon."

"Hmmm." Sam said. "That's sort of vague. I am not sure if that's _worth_ a favor."

"Oh shush." she snapped. "You know how much trouble I could get in for telling you this."

"Thank you." Sam said, placing his hand briefly on top of hers. "This really means a lot to me."

"You better come through on this favor." she said, getting up from her seat.

"Trust me, I will." he said as she walked out the tavern door. "And if me and my friends ever grow gills we will be the first ones at one of your parties. We Shadowhunters know how to have a good time!"

* * *

Suddenly Sam jolted awake. He hadn't even realized he had fallen asleep. He was leaning against the tree, and for some reason had a massive headache. Bark, as Sam now knew, didn't make the best pillow.

Out of nowhere Sam began to shiver. It was a fairly warm night, so there was no reason he should be this cold. He hugged himself and then rubbed his hands together to keep warm. Then he suddenly smelled it when an abrupt gust brought the scent of burnt sugar to his nose. He knew that smell well. It was the smell of magic.

Sam was actually friends with a couple Warlocks, and even an Ifrit. While most Shadowhunters couldn't even stand to be around Downworlders, Sam actually got along quite well with most of them. The majority of Nephilim would rather kill a Downworlder than shake hands with one. Sam couldn't help agree with them when it came to Vampires, however. Being friends with Fair Folk, Werewolves, and Warlocks, was one thing, being friends with bloodsuckers was another.

This magic in the air somehow tasted different though. The taste of Warlock's magic usually tasted pretty good to Sam. But this magic tasted stale, and oddly wrong. This was the taste of a demonic magic, not the regular magic that Warlocks used around Shadowhunters in fear that they would be killed for using the more dark forms of magic.

Sam pulled the seraph blade out of his boot, which was where he liked to keep most things. As soon as the hilt touched his skin he began to feel the blade humming to life, almost affirming that he was meant to use this weapon that it was his birth right. He tightened his grip on the knife, preparing for a battle that might soon occur.

"Uriel." Sam hissed.

Suddenly, as if by magic, the blade began to glow. The knife knew its name. The knife was ready to act. The knife was ready to kill, if it had to.

The wind changed once again. This time it smelled of regular fire. Sam couldn't tell if it was coming from the city, or if for some reason the Mundanes had built a fire in the middle of the field. Not waiting to speculate any longer, Sam stood up and looked across the field, which now wasn't empty any longer.

In the middle of the field there was indeed a fire. It wasn't a regular fire, however. It looked as if the Mundanes had cut down an entire forest to create it. So much wood was stacked upon the still-growing fire that the hungry flames reached 10 feet into the air, as if they were wishing to consume the stars themselves.

The Mundanes were all dressed in long, blood red robes. Each one had there hoods down, so there was no way he could even confirm that they were Mundanes. Sam would just have to take his faery friend's word. Almost all at once, each hooded figure raised and extended their arms to each side. Waiting on both sides of any particular person were two other hands. When their fingers had finally met each other they grasped palms, forming a crude semicircle around the fire.

After a few seconds of eery silence, an even more eery chanting began. Each person began to speak in a language that Sam didn't recognize, and Sam prided himself on his knowledge of demon languages. The language itself sounded like a crackling fire. At one point Sam couldn't quite tell if the noises he was hearing were from the fire or from the people.

From what Sam could tell, they were speaking words of Summoning and Ancient Evils. The language sounded to Sam somewhat similar to an obscure language that was spoken by certain groups of Arabian Desert Demons. Sam was even surprised that Mundanes were able to speak the complex language. Even most Shadowhunters found it difficult to speak demon languages. While Sam didn't know exactly what would happen if he let the Mundanes continue, he didn't exactly want to test his luck and find out.

He put down his knife and pulled a regular slingshot, which he had bought at a Mundane market, out of his trouser pocket. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a vial of holy water, the perfect thing to put out a Demon Fire, since not all fires could be put out by plain old water. He put the vial into the slingshot, closing one eye, and began to aim.

His Shadowhunter instincts began to kick in. He supposed his years of training didn't hurt either. He pulled the slingshot back all the way, and after a moment of hesitation, released.

Thanks to his Night Vision rune he could perfectly make out the shape of the holy water soaring across the night sky, quickly getting closer to the giant fire. Suddenly the vial descended and land into the fire with a crash, slightly left of the center. The second the glass of the vial broke and the holy water spilled out, a horrible shrieking noise arose from the fire. Sam was almost as startled at the Mundanes, who stopped chanting and let go of each others hands. They were all nervously looking around, searching for the person who had fired something into the fire they worked so hard to create.

When the shrieking finally died a few seconds later, so did the fire. Sam had successfully stopped whatever scheme the people in the field were planning. He would have patted him self on the back if he wasn't holding a slingshot in his hand. He put the slingshot back into his pocket, and was planning on finally congratulating himself with a nice pat when he heard a booming voice from the group of Mundanes that made his skin crawl.

"We know you are here." the gravely voice shouted into the darkness. "Show yourself and beg for forgiveness and you might be spared."

Sam stood in the silence, afraid to even breath. Suddenly he felt ashamed. Shadowhunters were brave. Shadowhunters were strong. Shadowhunters feared no one, let alone Mundanes. He let out a breath and picked up his knife, which was still glowing. He knew what he had to do.

"I am a Nephilim." Sam professed, stepping forward to be seen. "I come in the name of the Clave." Which technically was a lie. At 17 he had not yet officially pledged his allegiance to the Clave.

"The Clave?" The voice laughed in a laugh that made every hair on Sam's body stand on end. "The Clave has NO authority here."

"The Clave has authority over the _entire_ Earth." Sam firmly asserted. "In the name of the Angel Raziel I command you to surrender. The Clave will have mercy if you surrender without a fight. The Philadelphia Conclave will not hesitate to kill those who pose a threat, however, even if you are Mundanes."

"The Philadelphia Conclave?" the voice laughed once again. Somehow the laugh was even more frightening and bone chilling the second time. Sam had to fight back every urge to scream.

"You are here alone. You are the one who will be needing mercy. Maybe when we summon The Ancient One we can feed you to him. I'm sure he would love to feast on the blood of an angel that runs through your veins."

"In the name of the Angel Raziel, I command you to surrender!" Sam shouted, his voice faltering half way through. Any authority it might of seemed that he had suddenly faded away.

"Even an Angel can't protect you here." the voice said, in what might have been described as a cackle.

Sam looked down at his weapon and quickly back up. He began to calculate in his head how likely he would be to hit the person who was speaking directly in the heart. At that distance the odds were low, even for him. He thought he might go for it anyways. He raised his arm to throw the blessed weapon when a hand grabbed his arm. He couldn't help but let out a gasp of surprise, but before he could a scaly hand covered his mouth. He whipped his head around to see who was now grasping his forearm.

Right behind were 2 of the people in the red robes. Sam trashed with all his might, trying to remember what he learned in combat class. He lifted up his leg and forcibly kicked the robed figure directly behind him in the stomach with the heel of his boot, which felt as hard and firm as the stone floors of the Institute. He would have cried out if not for the hand which was still covering his mouth. He struggled some more, trying to break the grip, which felt like a claw sinking into his skin.

When he looked back to where the other figure stood he saw that it was slowly pulling back its hood. The face barely had enough starlight on it for Sam to make out the details. The countenance that it showed was not of a Mundane. It was like nothing Sam had ever seen. It was worse than any creature from a nightmare or fever dream that Sam had ever had. At that moment he had regretted ever putting on the Night Vision rune. And when it smiled not even the scaly hand covering his mouth could stop a scream of fear and agony from escaping his mouth and fleeing into the night.


	2. Dances with Demons

The face in front of Sam was as hard to describe as it was hideous. The only word that continually rang through his mind was "Death". He looked into the sunken in eyes of the thing, which were composed of only whites and pupils. The whites of the eye might not of even have been described as whites. Their color reminded Sam of the color gray that an eye of a fish, that had been forgotten and left to rot, might be. The being _smelled_ like a rotten fish as well. The blacks of the eye sucked him in. Once he made direct eye contact he found it hard to break. The eyes were dead and possessed no eyelids. The being was eternally stuck in a blinkless gaze. Its eyes held no emotion.

"Death." a voice echoed in his head.

He looked at the mouth of the thing. A lipless grin was plastered onto the face like a smile painted onto a doll. No matter how hard the thing could try, the smile would always be there. When it talked, it smiled. When it didn't talk, it smiled. And thanks to the gaps in the grin, you could always see directly into the creature's mouth.

It was as if the creature was born with only the necessities. The tongue itself was so thin in width that 3 of the tongues put together might be as wide as a human tongue. The tongue ended in a sharp point and slightly curled upward at the tip. The tongue was built so that it could _just_ barely give its owner the gift of speech. The point at the end would be perfect for speaking demonic languages. The tongue was the color of raw and festering flesh. Most of the teeth of the thing were either rotten, rotting, or completely missing. Sam was unsure if they would even be able to eat, if they even needed food to function at all.

Its faces skin was a sickly pale gray-purple. It reminded Sam of when he and his cousin dug up a long-buried coffin of a Night's Child. The people of Philadelphia had been in a panic because according to them the vampire, which they had buried in its coffin long ago, had risen from the grave and was terrorizing the city once again. When they had dug up the coffin and looked inside all they saw was the bloated and purple face of a vampire who had starved to death while in his underground exile.

The face had deep, black cracks running throughout the skin. They reminded Sam of rivers on a map. Bending and winding, connecting and parting. He imagined that the skin might feel like an alligator hide. The eyes of the thing seemed too far apart and too high up; the face possessed no eyebrows _or_ eyelashes. The creature also had no nose. Only two round, miniscule holes where nostrils should have been. Where ears might have been there were also 2 holes, these ones larger and in more of an oval shape. The skin across the face was also very tight. It left no room for expression, for if too much emotion was shown, the skin would tear.

Sam took in all these details as he was being tied to a large wooden post by the being who had spoken to him earlier, and who appeared to be the other beings leaders. The other denizens scrambled to recreate the fire. A shiver crept down his spine and his hairs stood their on ends. He was terrified. He knew the fire was meant to summon a demon who would surely eat him whole.

At first had he cried and screamed and tried to break the thick and tough ropes that bound him. Then he said some demon repelling chants, which did not work, and proved that these beings were not demons themselves. Then he finally tried to bargain with the beings, but got nowhere. It seemed as though they didn't even hear him, or if they did they simply did not care. No expression fell upon their eternally blank faces. Their gravely voices did not falter when they occasionally said something in their bizarre language. Everything that made humans, humans was missing from these beings.

"What do you want from me?!" Sam shouted at the bustling figures.

There was no response or reaction.

"Let me go!"

No response.

"In the name of the Angel Raziel and the Clave I command you to release me!"

No response once again. Sam finally confirmed it was useless to try and communicate with the beings. It was worse that trying to talk to his cousin Thomas. Sam decided he would save his voice for when he was being torn to pieces by a Greater Demon.

When the hooded figures had finished preparing the fire, they once again linked hands in a circle around the pile of wood, while Sam hung over over it. When they began to chant suddenly the wood went ablaze and the fire reached up far enough to lick Sam's feet. Sam let out a yelp of surprise and pain.

As the beings chanted, Sam began to chant himself, but not in a chant of summoning, but of a banishment and repulsion.

"In nomine sanctae et sanctum Angelum Raziel, eieci te ad puteos infernum, ubi sunt iuste.." Sam chanted in Latin. "In nomine sanctae et sanctum Angelum Raziel, eieci te ad puteos infernum, ubi sunt iuste." _In the name of the blessed and holy angel Raziel, I banish thee to the pits of hell, where thou rightfully belongs._

The fire would grow and change to a vibrant shade of purple whenever Sam would falter, and shrink and change to a rightful shade of orange when the figures did the same. Finally after minutes of verbal battle the denizens grew louder, and there being more of them, Sam could not reach their volume. The fire expanded and reached up the post to Sam's legs.

He let out a cry of agony so loud that he was surprised the Clave in Alicante couldn't hear him. At first he could feel his pants legs slowly burning off, and then his leg hair, and then top layer of his skin. He screamed and screamed, but the pain did not go away. His skin was being charred and there was nothing he could do to stop it from happening. He continued to scream and scream, because he did not know what else to do in a situation like this.

Suddenly the fire went out after a final fiery explosion. When the smoke finally blew away a figure stood where the fire once blazed. The shape of the figure was entirely human, except for the fact that it was double the size of an extremely tall man. One might expect a being conjured from a demonic flame to be ragged and ugly, but this being was quite the opposite. It was dressed dapperly in a suit and had a face that reminded Sam of a Greek statue. He was different from the beings who had summoned him, he looked human, almost too human. The beings who summoned him all looked up at the giant; Sam had imagined that if their faces could have shown emotion, they would have shown awe and amazement.

He turned his face to Sam, and grinned. Sam blinked and when he opened his eyes the man was now closer to him. Even though Sam still hung on the post, defenseless he at least now had a better view of his adversary. He skin was pale and smooth like marble, and his neatly cut hair was a dark brown. His shiny white smile was inviting, but not comforting, almost like a spider inviting a fly to its web. Even with all his beauty he still looked _wrong, _especially when a horde of flies began to gather around him. Then Sam saw his were like swirling icey white voids. When Sam looked into them it was as if he could see the pits of Hell.

He saw endless barren fields of gray bedrock. He saw ragged naked men and woman chained to rocks, crying out for mercy as they slowly froze to death, and when they finally _did_ freeze, they thawed out and the whole hellish cycle began over again. He saw people impaled by icicles, trying to gather their own organs which were strewn everywhere. Others lay frozen and frostbitten on the ground, unable to move because their muscles were frozen. One man screamed in agony and icey blue fire danced across his purple frostbitten skin.

Then Sam saw a man, sitting on a throne of snow-white bones. He had the most beautiful face Sam had ever seen. At first he wonder if it was the face of God. But the man had a sinister look about him. His whole aura was dark and mysterious, yet still inviting. He looked like a person who you _knew_ was evil, and you_ knew _could never be saved, but who you yet would still pour your soul into in order to fix. His eyes were as black as night, and yet his hair was still as fair and golden as an angel. Dark runes that Sam didn't recognize slithered across his skin like unwordly serpents.

Sam was snapped back to reality and began to hyperventilate in a panic.

"Did you enjoy what I showed you?" the demon chuckled.

Sam tried and failed to center himself and gasped "What _are_ you?"

"Isn't is obvious?" he cackled. "The better question is, what are _you_?"

"In the name of Raziel I repel you!" Sam spat.

"Oh." the demon replied. "So you're one of _those.._."

"Eat me if you must." Sam hissed as flies began to crawl onto his face. "But I hope my blood burns all the way down."

The Greater Demon cackled. "Stupid, stupid mortal." the demon replied. "If I was able to eat you I would have done that immediately. It has been such a long time since I have eaten..."

"I repel you in the name of Raziel!" Sam shouted once again, this time almost swallowing several flies.

"_You_, repel _me?" _the being laughed. "The Lord himself could barely repel me. Even with the help of your precious angel you're no match against me. You're lucky I don't strike you down for even mentioning that filthy things name."

Sam looked up at the thing, who managed to even tower over the post that he was tied to. Sam bit into his tongue until he could taste his angelic blood. When he had a mouth full of it he spit it at the demon, where it landed on its face. The demon let out a shriek of surprise and slight annoyance, but not real pain.

"That angel blood is so diluted that it barely even stings" the demon grinned. "Given time I might even enjoy it. Maybe I'll even keep your kind around so I can feast on their blood. Would you like that? Would you like to see me slaughter your entire family?"

"In the name of Raz..." Sam started before the demon raised its hand and slashed him across the face with one quick motion.

"In the name..." Sam started again, bloody streaming down his face, before he was struck once again.

"Are you done?" the demon questioned.

"What do you want?" Sam sobbed.

"You're going to tell me how me how to get into the Alicante and deactive the Demon Towers." the demon answered.

"But why?" Sam asked as flies began to fly to the wounds, licking at his blood and nipping at his raw skin.

"Tell me." the demon demanded.

"How would I know?" Sam sobbed. "I've never even been to Idris."

"Hmmm." the demon started. "That might be problematic."

"In the name of the Angel I repel you!" Sam screamed.

The demon flinched, and the glamor that cloaked the being faded slightly. For a second Sam could see the what the Demon truly looked like. He had the head of a giant fly. Fine hairs covered the face and two large eyes hung on each side. Instead of having the mouth of a fly, it had a giant gaping hole of mangled and bloody teeth. His hand were composed of long and curved claws, like ones of a raptor. His feet looked almost the same, except one of them was chained to the ground by giant black shackles that glowed a dark aura. This demon was not beautiful, and Sam was stupid to think that a demon could be beautiful. The way it truly looked reflected what it actually was. A being of pure darkness, who was hellbent on turning the world to rubble.

"Beelzebub." Sam gasped.

"I will break your bones and suck out the marrow." it wailed.

Sam knew what this Greater Demon was. There was an entire section on him in his Codex. His uncle even taught him and his cousins an entire class on Greater Demons, and his name came up a lot. He was a Prince of Hell, the Demon of Gluttony and Hunger. Its only ambition was to eat and eat, in order to fulfill a hunger that could never be satisfied. Sam also knew there was nothing he could do to banish him. He was too powerful. Banishing him would be a feat alone, killing him would be another matter. It was extremely difficult, if not impossible to kill a Greater Demon. To kill a Greater Demon you must kill it in its worldly _and_ ethereal form. Few had ever accomplished it. The only advantage that Sam had was that only the Demon's worldly form could leave Hell. The Demon was also unable to leave the spot in which he was summoned. The chains that bound him to Hell were even too strong for a Greater Demon to break.

"I'll never tell you anything!" Sam spat. "I'd rather die than tell you anything."

"I think I can arrange that." the Greater Demon, who was now again covered in glamor, chuckled.

"How does it feel to be cast down from heaven?" Sam taunted, trying to buy himself time. He knew signals must be going off all across the Earth. A Greater Demon, especially a Prince of Hell, couldn't break through the Earth's wards without alerting the Clave. If stalled long enough the Conclave might show up and save him.

"How does it feel to know you are slowly withering, mortal?" the demon quickly countered.

"Does that hunger ever go away?" Sam inquired. "Does at gnaw at your insides? I bet it does."

"My hunger will be a thing of the past soon enough." the Demon answered. "I have found one who can break these shackles. While only part of me will be free, it will be enough for me to consume this entire pitiful planet."

Then Sam heard a noise off in the distance, the sound of a howling wolf. Then he heard another, and another. At first he was afraid. A pack of wild wolves was the least thing the situation needed. The Demon himself even turned its head when the sound of large foot prints padding across the ground could be heard. The sounds were getting louder and louder, closer and closer. Sam wondered if these wolves could actually be hell hounds, which had been summoned by Beelzebub himself. But when he looked at the Demon's face he saw fear, which was an emotion you only saw on a demon's face when they knew knew they were about to die.

"You shouldn't have called them." the demon hissed as he reach forward to grip Sam's neck with his gruesome claws. "Now quickly, tell me how to get past the Demon Towers before I pop your head like a mel.."

Right before the giant could finish its sentence a giant wolf, which was the bright silvery color of a full moon, leaped out from the brush behind them and directly onto the giant's face. The demon released its grip from Sam's neck and gripped the back of the wolf's neck, trying to get it off its face as the wolf bit and scratched at it. The demon let out a howl of pain as a second wolf, this one smaller and the color of charcoal, sunk its teeth into the Greater Demon's thigh. Black ichor bled out of the wound and fell onto the back of the second wolf, which let out a yip of pain.

Suddenly the post that Sam was tied to began to shake and sway. Sam looked down and saw that one especially large gray wolf kept charging into the post, apparently trying to capsize it. Sam let out a yip of surprise when he heard the wood snap and he began to plummet back to the ground. When he finally hit the ground he landed on his left shoulder and let out a cry of pain. He looked up to see the same giant gray wolf standing over him.

It's eyes held emotion; it didn't have the expressionless eyes of an animal. He expected the wolf to attack him, tear him to shreds, but it didn't. It nuzzled Sam's cheek, almost like a mother wolf would do to her pup. It effortlessly bit through the ropes that bound Sam to the fallen post. Sam looked down to his wrists, which we bloody and rope burned. He stood up, dusted himself off, and petted the wolf on the head out of gratitude. As soon as Sam's hand left the wolf's head it sprinted over to his companion's, who were slaughtering the beings who had held Sam captive and summoned the Greater Demon.

One wolf leaped feet into the air, which seemed impossible for a wolf, and bit into the neck of one of the beings, quickly and cleaning taking its head off. Another pounced on one and flung it several feet into the air. When it fell back to Earth it make a sickly snapping sound.

Sam turned his head away and pulled out his stele out of his boot and began to draw an iratze on his arm, close to his shoulder, but not close enough that he would feel pain caused by the dislocation. He quickly and carefully drew the curves and and quick twists before it was finally done. It glowed a bright golden color and then sank into his pale skin, not even leaving behind a scar. He instantly felt better and ready to fight, but by the time he had pulled out his seraph blade all of the hooded figures were either dead or gone.

He looked up and saw that every single wolf that was still alive had leaped onto the giant who let out cries of struggle. All the wolves viciously bit into him, ignoring the savage burn of the ichor when it touched their skin. After minutes of battle the demon finally fell to the ground, defeated. When the wolves finally finished him off he let out a shriek of pain and collapsed into himself, only leaving behind a massive horde of flies, all of which scattered in seconds.

The silver wolf, the one who had leaped onto Beelzebub, trotted up to Sam. It had bright blue eyes, which seemed unusual for a wolf. They held a look of mischief and amusement, the same you might see from a little boy who had gotten away with something. Suddenly the wolf _changed_. One second it was a wolf, and the next a man nicely dressed in a dark gray waistcoat and black trousers.

He had short black hair, which was starting to gray, and the same bright blue eyes that he had in wolf from. His skin was fair, but was slightly dirty from when he was in wolf form. Across his left cheek was a giant ragged scar. It looked like it had been given to him by a giant claw. Most people with scars on their faces look intimidating, but to Sam the claw gave a certain ruggedness to the man who otherwise looked like a foreign prince. He grinned friendlily at Sam and extended his hand in order for it to be shaken.

"Hello." the man greeted. "My name is Arthur Wolfsbane, and I am the leader of the Philadelphia Wolf Pack.


	3. Meeting the Family

Sam froze where he stood, sinking his feet firmly into the ground. His hands were clammy and shaking with nervousness. His his eyes darted from the left to the right anxiously. He knew he couldn't take all these werewolves, even if he had to. There were at least 15, and probably 20 more that he _couldn't _see.

He knew only 2 things could kill a werewolf effectively: silver, and a seraph blade directly to the heart. Sam didn't have any silver dust on him, so there was no way he could stop all the Moon's Children at once. If he were to plunge his knife into the pack leader's chest the other 34 werewolves would be on him in an instant. The only piece of silver he had on him was his family ring, which had his family symbol carved into it, perching ravens.

"Are you..." Sam began nervously, fighting back the stutters he was plagued with when nervous. "going to kill me?"

"Kill you?" Arthur, the pack leader, asked, confused by the question.

"You know, tear me to shreds, rip me limb from limb?" Sam laughed nervously.

"Goodness no." Arthur said at once. "Why would we do that?"

"Well." Sam started. "I'm a Shadowhunter, you're a Moon's Child. We two aren't on the best of terms..."

This was true. Several decades ago a feud between the two groups formed when a newly turned werewolf killed several Shadowhunters, including a child who hadn't even received his first marks yet. The Conclave retaliated by killing nearing half of the Philadelphia wolf pack, even though they had no control over the rogue werewolf, who wasn't even in their pack. For nearly 20 years the Conclave and wolf pack went back and forth. A Shadowhunter out alone at night would never return to their home. A werewolf would "accidentally" swallow a fist full of silver dust. The feud finally had died when Sam's aunt and uncle took over the Philadelphia institute.

"You really think we would go through all the trouble of saving you only to just kill you ourselves?" the werewolf chuckled in disbelief. "Times are certainly changing, my boy. You would be surprised how well we get along compared to how they do across The Pond"

Sam looked over at the other wolves. They ranged in color from snowy white, to coal black. Their eyes colors varied even more. They all had the same range of eye colors that a person could have. He saw blues and greens and browns, but not a single yellowy orange that most wolves in the wild did. Sam supposed that these weren't like normal wolves. Maybe they had the same eye colors they did in wolf form as they did in human form; Arthur did. The wolves didn't seem ready to attack though. They looked like they were calm, but alert. They didn't want to attack Sam, but they would if they had to.

"Thank you." Sam finally blurted out.

"I beg your pardon?" Arthur questioned.

"I mean, thank you for saving me and all." Sam mumbled, scratching his mess of curly brown hair.

"Don't even mention it." he said. "I am sure you would have done the same for one of us." Sam knew this probably wasn't true.

Sam pulled out his pocket watch and looked at the time. "Well, I should probably be getting back to the Institute." Sam stated, yawning at the end. "It is kind of late."

"That would probably be best. You never know what might be prowling around at this time of night." the werewolf winked. "Until we meet again!"

Before Sam could say goodbye as well, the pack leader suddenly turned back into the large silver wolf. The wolf looked at Sam and did what could have been described as a smirk. He turned back to the other wolves and slightly nodded. He jogged ahead of them and they then bounded slightly behind him. Before Sam knew it, the wolves were past the horizon and Sam could no longer see them as they faded into the dark blackness of night.

Sam then started the long trek back to the Institute, which was at _least_ a mile away. Before leaving, he looked down at one of the dead hooded figures. The face looked exactly the same dead as it did living. Still not blinking, still not moving. It was even the same pale color. He guessed that once a thing looked dead there wasn't much you could do to make it look deader. He wondered if the things had souls.

He followed a dirt path that was used by travelers, being weary not to accidentally stumble into a Vampire den along the way, or into a drunken faery that might be napping in the middle of the road. When he finally got back to the city of Philadelphia it was past 3 in the morning. It was just late enough that most of the vagrants and drunks would be passed out in an alleyway or gutter, but not yet early enough that shop owners would be up to start the day.

As he walked he looked down at his feet as they stumbled clumsily over the badly done cobble street. If he listened hard enough he might have been able to here a single horse clopping across the street. He dozed off slightly but when he awoke he was in front of the Institute, as if his body had naturally guided him there.

At first he saw an old and dilapidated building. It looked as if it once might have been a manor house, one that might have belonged to a plantation owner who had lived in Philadelphia before it had become the thriving city that it was today. Its wood was rotting, part of the roof had fallen in, and the grass was brown and dead. Vines were climbing up the side of the wall and overgrown weeds surrounded the house. It looked like it might have once been grand and beautiful if you squinted your eyes and tilted your head to the right.. When Sam forced himself to peel back the glamor, which he often had trouble doing, he saw that the building _was _grand. The pillars at the front of the building Sam knew were composed of the ashes of his ancestors, which protected the Institute from attack by Downworlders and demons. Perhaps the pillars even contained a part of his great grandfather Jonathon Graymark, who was the son of Edmund Graymark.

Edmund Graymark was the one of the first Shadowhunters to live in the New World. As prestigious as that might sound, he did not come to America by choice. He was forced into exile by the Clave. They had found out that he had been turning a blind eye to his wife's affairs with Warlocks, something that wasn't advisable to do. She was stripped of her marks and she lived in the streets as a beggar until she died in on an especially cold winter night.

Edmund took a ship to America, where he eventually found a mundane woman who he fell madly in love with, much more so than the Shadowhunter that his father had forced him to marry. She was eventually allowed to Ascend, and they had many children together, most of which actually decided to stay in America. In Edmund's old age he and his sons Jonathon and Christopher built the first Institute in the continental Americas in New York City. Christopher was the head of that Institute, while Jonathon moved to Philadelphia and established a second Institute.

Sam walked up to and opened the gate in front of the Institute, which wasn't glamored, yet was still ornate and beautiful. He walked the path to the porch, and opened only one of the 2 heavy wooden doors. He slipped in stealthily, trying not to make a noise as to wake up his sleeping aunt and uncle. He crept the down the long hallways, past the many rooms that could be used to house as many as 50 Shadowhunters, to his room. He opened the brown wooden door, which let out a shrill creak, as if his room was wishing to tattle on him for coming home so late. He walked into his room and almost let out a cry when he saw that someone was in his room, sitting on his bed.

His cousin glared at him, crossing her arms, as if she wished to scold him. She was in a long gray night gown, one that would have been described as modest by an Iron Sister. Her eyes, which were a dark brown as opposed to Sam's green, pierced at him from across the room. Her brown hair, which was the exact same shade as Sam's, was messily tied in a bun with strands sticking out wildly. He fair skin seemed to glow against the candle light. Sam figured that she might be considered pretty.

"Look who decided to finally decided show up." his cousin snapped as she stood up from the bed. "Where the hell have you been?"

"I don't see how that's any or _your _business." Sam replied tiredly as he rubbed his eyes.

"And what happened to your face?" she cooed motherly. She walked up to him and pulled out a handkerchief, which she dabbed onto her tongue, before she pressed it up against his cheek where the demon had slashed him with its claw. Sam had forgotten that the gash was even there.

"It's nothing." Sam reassured her. "I'm fine." That was mostly true. The situation could have turned out a lot worse than it actually did. Sam was lucky that he escaped with his life.

"This doesn't look like fine, Sam." she replied. "This is why I should be with you when you go hunting."

"Sara, you know your parents don't like it when you hunt. They would be angry if they found out I was out of the Institute at this time of night. They would _kill_ me if I took you with me." Sam stated. "And besides, I wasn't hunting. I was following up on a lead."

"Did that harlot faery lead you on another adventure that would almost surely kill you?" Sara questioned, not even bothering to hide how annoyed she was.

"Something like that." Sam answered. "And she is not a harlot."

"You just keep telling yourself that." Sara snapped. "And while you're at it, maybe next time you could remember to take your Parabatai with you. Isn't that what I'm for? To fight along side you? I don't even know why you even bothered to become my Parabatai if you're just going to sneak out at night while I'm sleeping."

"We go hunting during day!" Sam said, trying to reassure himself that he was in the right.

"There aren't hardly any demons to even _hunt _during the day." Sara pointed out. "Just because I'm a girl it doesn't mean that I can't handle myself. We've had the same training. I'm just as fit as you are. If you can hunt at night, I can hunt at night."

"I already told you, Sara." Sam said. "I wasn't out hunting."

"Well something gave you that 'scratch'." Sara said as she walked to the door, the tail of her dress trailing behind her. "Maybe if I was with you, you wouldn't have gotten it."

Sam sighed. "Can you mark me?"

"What?" Sara asked sarcastically. "You don't want my mom and dad to know that you were out all night?"

"Please?" Sam asked again.

"I suppose so." Sara answered. "But next time you _are _taking me with you."

Sam took off his black waistcoat and undershirt, his hunting gear, and his cousin began to mark an iratze. Her long fingers gripped the slender white stele, which looked far more delicate and gaudy than Sam's. She made the curves and bends of the rune across his chest, right above his parabatai rune, close to the heart, where it would be most affective. When she finished the rune she stood back and smirked with pride. The rune glowed golden and then faded into his skin.

The rune acted much quicker and more effectively than the iratze Sam had done earlier. He felt a popping in his shoulder and a pain that Sam hardly realized he had had suddenly went away. The gash on his face closed and left only smooth skin. He had always been impressed by his cousin's marking skill. While Sam excelled at languages of Earth and Hell, Sara excelled at the language of heaven that was the runes.

"You're welcome." Sara said before Sam could even thank her.

"You should get to bed." Sam said, mostly out of concern for her well being. "You look exhausted."

"I wonder why. It's not like I've been up all night worrying about you. Fine, I know when I'm no longer welcome." Sara said as she walked back to the door. "All I'm worth is an iratze or two, apparently."

"Please just let me go to sleep, I'm exhausted!" Sam groaned as he threw himself onto his large canopy bed.

"You're lucky I don't tell my parents on you." Sara said as she was half way out the door. "See you in the morning."

When Sam first opened is his eyes, all he saw was tendrils of light streaming in through his giant curtainless window. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, removing the crust that has accumulated there overnight. He yawned and stretched his arms, yet felt no pain from the battle the night before, which now seemed like a distant memory. He suddenly let out a gasp of surprise when he saw that his cousin Alice was sitting at the edge of his bed, staring at him intently

"Watcha doin?" Alice giggled.

"What did it look I was doing?" Sam said fake-sternly as he stood up and started making his bed.

"I dono, sleeping I guess." she said.

When Sam finished making his bed a few minutes later he looked over to find his cousin still standing by the bed and staring at him.

"What time is it, Alice?" Sam asked, yawning at the end.

"I can't read a clock." she shrugged, shaking her head.

"And why were you sitting on my bed?" Sam questioned the little girl.

"Momma said to wake you up!"

"How long ago did she tell you this?" Sam inquired.

"I dono, an hour ago maybe." she guessed.

"I thought you couldn't read a clock." Sam pointed out.

"I can't." she stated. "I jus guessed!"

"Ok, well tell her I'll be down in a minute." he said rustling her golden hair playfully. "Now scram, I need to get dressed."

When Alice left the room Sam went to the door, which she forgot to close, and closed it. He took off his sleeping apparel and put on a pair of brown breeches and a sandy colored shirt. He grabbed his boots and long white socks out from under his bed and put them on as well. He grabbed his stele off of his night stand and put it in his boot, and he did the same with his seraph blade, which he kept under his fluffy goose down pillow. He walked over to his mirror and ran his fingers through his mess of brown hair before he finally decided that trying to style it was useless. He grabbed a bucket of lukewarm water and splashed it on his face, getting rid of the dirt that he had forgotten to wash off last night.

When he decided he was ready he opened his door and began the walk down the long highway to the dining room. When he finally reached the dining room he saw that his whole family was already there, begrudgingly waiting to eat their breakfast. Alice was playing with a doll her mom had made for her, a Shadowhunter with runes sewed into it's arms. His cousin Thomas, who was 13 and had just gotten his first marks, was intensely reading his copy of his Codex. Sara was attempting to sneak a roll of bread without without her mother noticing. His uncle had his nose in the morning's newspaper as he sipped a cup of coffee. His aunt was humming to herself as knitted a green and brown scarf that she would probably force Thomas to wear.

"Look who decided to crawl out of bed." Sara said, causing everyone at the table to look over at Sam.

"What time is it?" Sam said, being too lazy to pull out his pocket watch and look for himself.

"9 o'clock." Thomas grumbled, looking up from his book.

"And you guys haven't ate breakfast yet?" Sam asked in astonishment, as he took his usual seat in between Sara and Thomas. Usually they would have had their breakfast _finished_ by 8 o'clock.

"We were waiting for you to finally get up, honey." Sam's aunt said, putting down her her half knitted scarf.

"Maybe if Alice had actually woken me up instead of just watching me sleep..." Sam grunted.

"I didn't tell Alice to wake you up..." his Aunt Matilda said.

"Then why." Sam said, glaring at Alice, who was giggling. "Did you let me sleep in so late?"

"Sara told us that you had been up all night studying in the library." his aunt said. Sam looked to his left and Sara winked at him. "So we thought you deserved to sleep in."

"Yea studying..." Sam mumbled. "I'm starving. This food looks delicious!"

Sam looked at the table and saw plates and plates full of food. There was bacon and eggs, buttered toast and rolls, and even several stacks of pancakes. There was a pitcher full of ice cold milk and another full of orange juice. Just the sight of the food made Sam's stomach growl. Their cook, who was a mundane with the Sight, always cooked the most amazing food, much better than the food that his aunt Matilda cooked.

"Well let's dig in then!" his uncle announced without even putting down the newspaper.

Sam ate for a few minutes without making conversation before he finally asked. "What are you reading about Thomas?"

"Nothing." he grumbled, not even bothering to look up.

"That part was always my favorite!" Sara joked as she softly jabbed Sam's rib.

After a few more awkward minutes of silence Sam's uncle put down his newspaper and said. "So what are all your plans for today?"

"Well." his aunt said. Sam could almost hear a collective groan move about the table. "I was planning on working on the nursery today. My only problem is I don't know which color to paint the wall. If it's a boy, blue and if it's a girl, yellow. I have that part decided, but I can't paint it until we know the gender. I'm thinking its a girl, but I can't be sure until it arrives, so maybe I should just paint it a nuetral color like gre..." Sam and everyone else at the table stopped listening halfway through. Sam's uncle probably now regretted asking the question in the first place.

Aunt Matilda was now about 6 months pregnant. It was her 4th child, so she was knew exactly what to expect, yet she was still excited as she had been when she was pregnant with Alice 8 years ago. Sam hoped that it was a boy, but one who would actually like hunting and fighting. Sam's uncle probably secretly wanted the same. All Thomas did was read, and no matter how many times Sam asked him to go hunting, he would refuse. Sam and Sara both agreed that he would probably go on to be a Silent Brother.

When Sam's aunt finally finished her ramblings about everything the nursery had and still needed Alice stated. "I'm gonna have a tea party with the cat."

"We don't have a cat, Alice." Sara informed.

"I'll find one then." Alice said matter-of-factly.

"What about you, Sam?" his Uncle asked him.

"I thought Sara and I would check the usual spots for demons." Sam said. "_After_ my lessons of course."

Sam's uncle picked up his mug of coffee and took a long sip. He had begun drinking coffee more ever since a high tax on tea had been imposed by Parliment. His aunt still preferred tea though; it helped settle her stomach in the morning. Sam wasn't particularly fond of either, and neither were his cousins. Sam usually took his chance with plain water, which was usually clean enough in Philadelphia.

"And will you be joining them today, Thomas?" his uncle asked the boy.

"No." Thomas replied quickly, not even bothering to put down his thick book this time.

Thomas rarely ever went hunting with Sam and his sister. His preference was to stay at home, in the library, reading about things he would need to know if he hunted. Sam found the whole thing counterproductive. What was the point of reading about demons and Downworlders if you weren't ever going to do anything with them? The only time Thomas had ever been hunting his father had also been there and the whole time, which wasn't unusual. But when his father had nearly killed the demon and it was Thomas's turn to finish it off, as was tradition, he was too scared to and cried for 2 days afterward. Thomas also hated Marks. During his first marking ceremony, which was nearly a year ago, he cried the second the stele touched his skin and for the rest of the marking. Thomas didn't turn out to be the son his father had expected.

"Come on, Thomas." Sara coerced. "I'll even let you use my longbow. You won't even have to get near the demon."

"I don't want to." Thomas huffed, his nose still buried in the book.

"And why not?" Thomas's father asked.

"I just don't want to." Thomas replied plainly.

"And you don't have to. Right, Nigel?" Thomas's mother said comfortingly to her son. "Demon hunting is dangerous, _I've_ never killed a demon in my life."

"But you're a woman." Sam's uncle replied. "Demon hunting is a man's job!"

Sara cleared her throat, trying to catch her father's attention. "Well I suppose a few select women might be up to the job..." her father said, catching his blunder.

"You are almost 14, Thomas, and unless you want to be the laughing stock of the Conclave then you need to kill your first demon." Sam's Uncle Nigel stated. He fidgeted with his fork, which was stuck in his stack of pancakes.

"Well what if I don't want to?" Thomas said, still reading his book like always. His eyes darted across the page, absorbing the knowledge that the book had to offer about the Shadow World.

"I don't care if you want to." Thomas's father said, slamming his fists on the table. Everyone, including Thomas jolted in surprise. He put down his book, but couldn't bring himself to look into his father's eyes. "You are my son and you are going to kill at least one damn demon by the time you bury me."

"Maybe he can be a Quiet Brother!" Alice chimed in, still playing with her Shadowhunter doll.

"Silent Brother, Alice." Sara hushed her. "And that's not something he'd want to do. Those people are barely even Shadowhunters. They're more like monsters..."

"That's not true." Sara's mother countered. "It's a noble profession, and somebody has to do it."

"But that somebody will _not _be my son." Thomas's uncle asserted angrily, taking a drink of his coffee afterward.

"_Our_ son." his wife glared. "And my_ uncle_ is a Silent Brother. I for one am _proud_ to have a Silent Brother in my family."

Sara and Sam sat at the table awkwardly, eating small pieces of bacon. They both hated when the two fought, and they only ever did when the topic of family honor came up. Sam's uncle had much pride in his family, and he'd rather die than tarnish the family name. Nigel didn't want his son to be a Silent Brother, and he also didn't want him to go his whole life without even killing a single demon. With Thomas being his only current son, and maybe his only ever son, Nigel wanted him to bring honor, not disgrace to the family name of Wayland. While joining the Brotherhood wasn't exactly a bad thing, it wasn't something you wanted your only son to do.

"When Thomas's wife and child get mauled and murdered by a werewolf, then and only then will I allow him to become one of those deformed creatures."

"Not everyone is meant to hunt demons." his wife informed.

"Well my son is." he stated.

Sam stood in the modest Training Room, attempting to practice his archery by shooting at the many paper targets that hung from the wall. The silvery faery-made bow in his hand had been his Grandfather Alexander's. He had actually gotten it as a gift from the Seelie King, who he had been friends with before he had even become King. Alexander was so good with the bow that he could kill a demon with a single shot. He had taken out a whole demon den with only the bow and a quiver full of arrows. Nigel had let him in on the secret that the bow was actually only part of what made it an effective weapon. The real thing that made it deadly were the arrows. Marked by a stele at the tip of each arrow was a rune that symbolized the power of an Angel. Sam was cruddy at marking runes on his skin, so being able to mark on an arrow tip would be a giant feat. And considering that Sam was terrible at archery, he might as well give the bow to Thomas.

He pulled back the thick string of the bow slowly, breathing deeply in and out, and then released. The arrow flew swiftly through the air, like a bolt lightning and landed directly above the left shoulder of the paper figure. When he fired again, the arrow stuck into the spot right above the figure's head. He cursed quietly to himself. When he fired a third and last time the arrow pierced the spot right between the figure's legs. He leaped in surprise when a knife flew just past his shoulder and hit the spot directly in between the figures eyes.

"You suck." he heard the voice say. When he turned around he saw his cousin Sara standing in a pale blue dress, one her mother had made for her. She refused to wear the fancy English dresses that her mother adored. She also wore her brown hair in a messy ponytail, not under a mop cap that most women found fashionable. She did not like corsets and only wore them on special occasions, but for some reason she was wearing one now. Sam didn't blame her for not liking them. Hunting or training in a corset would be dreadful.

"I know I suck." Sam said to his cousin, who now stood beside him. "That's why I'm practicing."

"Well you'll need to practice some more if you are ever going to use a bow while hunting." Sara informed him.

Sara walked over to the paper figured and pulled out her runed blade, along with the 3 arrows that Sam hadn't yet retrieved. She lifted up her skirt and put the knife in her thigh holster, which was the only practical place where the few lady Shadowhunters could keep their weapons.

"How much more time can I practice?" Sam asked. "This is where I spend all my free time. And with hunting and my lessons I don't have much free time at all!"

"Maybe if you didn't spend all your time canoodling with that faery girl..."

"What is it with you and that faery girl?" Sam snapped. "I don't like her, get over it."

"Well excuse me." Sara said. "I guess my match making is not appreciated."

"You tried to set me up with Cassandra." Sam reminded as he put the 3 arrows back into the demon skin quiver that hung from his shoulder.

"And...?" Sara asked.

"She is our 3rd cousin!" Sam sighed. "And she would probably be more interested in you than me."

"Beggars can't be choosers, Sam!" Sara giggled, amused with herself. "And why does everyone insist that she is a lesbian?"

"Maybe because her parents caught her with Maggie Starkweather?" Sam countered.

"Psh!" Sara dismissed. "They're just good friends."

"Good friends like cousin William and his 'companion' Anthony?" Sam questioned.

"They say they're just friends and that's what they are." Sara insisted.

Sam's Uncle William lived in a manor several miles from the city with another man who was named Anthony Whitelaw. The two had always been inseparable. They were never parabatai, for to Sam obvious reasons, but they were as close as ones. They hunted together, trained together, and even lived together. Everyone in the family refused to believe that they were anything other than friends, but when Sam saw how they looked at each other it was apparent that they were something more.

"Yea, 'friends'." Sam said under his breath. "Now either train or get out, you're bothering me."

"No need to be rude." Sara said. "I came here to tell you that my father told us to get ready. We're going to a peace talk. One with the Philadelphia wolf pack."


End file.
